


Argument(ation)

by SailorFish



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Character Study, City Elf Culture and Customs, Confrontations, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Politics, Post-Dragon Age: Origins, Spoilers for one of the Tabris ending possibilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: It's been eight years since Alistair was made king - no, sinceTabrismade Alistair king. She had always believed it was the right choice, that her closest friend would do well by her people. But after hearing the heartbreaking news on her latest trip back home to Denerim, she's suddenly no longer sure. Tabris straps on her sword and goes to confront him.Just a little look at the direction King Alistair and Warden-Commander Tabris' friendship might go in the years after Origins.
Relationships: (background), Alistair & Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Argument(ation)

**Author's Note:**

> In case people don't remember/never got it, the epilogue slide if you make Shianni a Bann was this: "Resistance from humans saw a rise in violence in the city, however, which culminated in Shianni's murder by a human bigot several years later. The resulting riot in the Alienage forced a crack-down from the throne, a clear signal that the tension with the elves had not been resolved." :| I stared at that slide for a while, and then eventually felt I had to write Tabris' reaction to it - this fic.

The great door swung open with a crash.

“ALISTAIR!!”

All through the entrance hall, heads whipped around at that furious howl. Warden Commander Branwen Tabris ignored them as she strode into the palace. She glared from face to face, hunting for the King.

Although the Hero of Ferelden had been away for almost a year, she was a familiar enough sight in the castle. But none of the people in the hall had ever seen her quite like this. She was a quiet woman, small like the rest of her people, who preferred practical dresses and wore her black hair up in an equally practical bun. Some of those who had joined the castle staff within the eight years after King Alistair’s coronation had had trouble believing that this was the famed slayer of the Archdemon.

They could believe it now.

Tabris’ leather armour was stained with old blood and her boots were caked with mud. A large sword was strapped to her back and two curved knives hung on her hip; lightning sparks danced across the daggers’ blades and the sword distorted the air around it with its heat. Her tidy bun was disheveled, strands falling out haphazardly, and her face was contorted in a ferocious snarl.

“ALISTAIR!” she roared again.

One of the guards - one of the braver ones - hurried after her as she walked further into the castle, still looking around wildly.

“My Lady, what’s the - ” he began.

“Where is he?” she growled as she continued into the throne hall.

Servants leapt out of her way, and the other palace visitors shrank back. The guard gulped, sweat pouring down his back as he tried to remain firm.

“Well, my Lady, the King is currently very busy and I, uh, that is, maybe you could make an appointment?” The last bit ended in a tentative question as Tabris finally did pause in her search to instead stare at him incredulously.

“An appointment?!” she said. “Listen, _shem_ , you run and find Alistair _now_ and you tell him - ”

“Tell me what?”

It was the King. Alistair stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the commotion with an unreadable expression on his face. The guard who had approached the Warden wilted visibly in relief. Tabris spun around to glare up at him and her face grew even more thunderous.

“Please stop frightening my guards, Branwen,” continued Alistair mildly. “Why don’t we talk somewhere more private?”

A long beat of tense silence followed. Several of the guards started slowly reaching towards their scabbards, and Tabris looked as though she were itching to do the same. 

Then she nodded curtly and followed him up the stairs.

Alistair led her into a small study and she kicked the door shut behind them. A desk stood on the far side of the room, covered with papers he had clearly just been working on, and he half-perched on it, waiting for her to speak. Tabris stood near the door, her back ramrod straight and her fists clenched. Now that she had found him, she seemed too overwhelmed to start. The erstwhile companions looked each other over in silence.

Both had changed since Tabris had left Denerim nine months ago. Tabris found that she didn’t completely recognise Alistair anymore: there were new lines of worry around his eyes and mouth. Alistair found that Tabris looked sickeningly familiar, with the same pure fury in her eyes that he had last seen when they were twenty and chasing down slavers in the Alienage.

“Zevran isn’t with you?” said Alistair finally.

“He’s with my father.”

“Ah, so I’ll be avoiding assassination today, then?” His tone held a note of forced levity that didn’t reach his eyes. “Wasn’t sure I would when I saw you in your work armour - ”

“Shianni’s dead.”

Tabris spoke flatly, and she stared intently into Alistair’s face. She was hungry for any twitch of remorse or regret on her oldest, closest friend’s face. A single shadow of grief, and her anger would abate, at least a little.

“I know,” he said. His face remained smooth. She couldn’t stand the sight of it.

“I repeat, _one of your Banns is dead!_ ”

“And her murderer has been tried and hanged. Shianni - ”

“Do you even care?” she spat. Her hand clenched around the smaller dagger at her side - her mother’s dagger, the dagger that had belonged to Shianni’s aunt.

“Shianni knew the risks she was taking - better than you, it seems,” Alistair continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “I warned her. I warned her numerous times, and she accepted the risks and the possible costs. Her murderer was caught and she was given the best justice the crown could offer.” For the first time, real emotion crept into his voice - frustration. “Branwen, what do you want me to _do?_ ”

“ _Justice?!_ ” Tabris exploded. “You’ve changed, Alistair. Is that what you call it now - strict curfews and guards all around the Alienage - is that justice in Denerim these days?”

She could barely speak for fury. Her mother had been killed and dumped in the street like trash, and now her cousin had been too. And according to the man in front of her, anybody who got angry at that deserved to be beaten and locked up, like a feral animal, like fellow trash. 

“Those are temporary measures!” Alistair argued back. Now that he had let her goad him into showing just a hint of his feelings, he found he couldn’t draw back into the kingly, distant calm he had worked half a decade to perfect. “There were riots every night for a week after Shianni died - ”

“Their Bann had been murdered!! What were they - ”

“Innocent human’s houses burned down and shops looted - ”

“Oh, so now it’s all us knife-ears’ fault?”

“Don’t twist my words!”

He had pushed himself off the table and they were standing nose-to-nose now, genuinely yelling. They had never yelled at each other like this before. In a very distant corner of their minds, they unknowingly shared the same swift, relieved thought - at least they weren’t so far gone to each other that Tabris had flinched from the much taller human and resorted to her oldest reflex of violence. But the thought was too faint, and their anger too immediate and overwhelming.

“Locking all of us up like animals - ”

“Like I said, this is temporary and - ”

“So tell me, if Teagan had been murdered and Redcliffe had rioted, would you really be putting up the same laws?”

“ _If I had to!_ ”

In the ringing silence that followed his roar, Tabris swayed and stumbled back a few steps. She knew his tells when he lied; the certainty in his voice right now was as unwavering as a stone’s. Alistair suddenly looked more intensely familiar than he had since she’d heard of Shianni’s murder, and at the same time, impossibly, he was a complete stranger.

The man turned his head from her stare and said quietly, bitterly, “A little late for buyer’s remorse isn’t it?”

She paused before she answered, and she spoke slowly. Her voice was no less bitter than his.

“Maybe you truly believe that, but nobody else does. Did you know me and Zevran were stopped by one of your guards on the way to the Alienage? She wanted to know what the two rabbits were up to with all their fancy knives.”

Alistair’s brows snapped together in genuine confusion and he looked her over, shocked. “What? They’re not supposed to be harassing people.”

“Oh, she was very polite about it. But we were the only people she stopped, and the last time I was in Denerim, she wouldn’t have stopped us at all. _Elves who carry swords shall die upon them_ , was it, my King?”

She sneered. The second of understanding and truce was over. How very like a shem, to not realise what consequences his actions had on her people. She had thought he was better than this. She had thought he had understood her life and Zevran’s better than this. It was not a relief to know that he had commanded the indignities they faced from naivety and not from malice.

“That’s not even _remotely_ what - ”

“Then why didn’t you talk to them?!” Tabris howled. “You’re their _king_ \- if you’d just come down from your fancy palace and met with the hahrens instead of setting your guard dogs on them - ”

“Talk to them?!” He spat on the floor, not caring that they were inside his fancy palace. “When they’re all treating me like - ”

“If you finish that sentence with _savages_ I swear to Andraste I will - ”

“Maker’s balls, Branwen,” Alistair’s anger matched hers note for note, and he was pale and shaking with it. “When they’re all treating me like I’m just some shem lordling! They stopped seeing me as their king the second their bann was murdered, and now I’m just the Shem King Alistair. They don’t care a fig for any of my promises and consolations. As far as they’re concerned, I as good as stuck my knife in her myself. As though you’re any different - storming the castle carrying my own father’s blade.” He gestured wildly at the long black sword she carried. A very long time ago, they had easily decided that she should be the one to take it; they had laughed together at how this was the only one of the amazing swords they’d found that had been light enough for her to wield. Half a year later, she had sworn her allegiance to her new king on the blade, face glowing with triumph and delight. “The things you’re accusing me of - forget being your king - when you look at me do you even see your _friend?_ ”

Tabris recoiled from him, but she didn’t answer. And that was answer enough. Alistair laughed mirthlessly at her silence. The memory of her happiness at making him king was still fresh in his mind, and he suddenly felt a bone-deep exhaustion at this whole mess of a conversation.

“And for all the accusations you’re hurling at me, where were _you?_ ” He continued bitterly. “If anyone could have settled matters calmly, it was the beloved, heroic, thrice-cursed Warden-Commander from the Alienage! You promised when you made me king that you’d stay in Denerim and help. But now you keep disappearing for longer and longer, and _not_ on official Warden business. You don’t tell us where you’re going. You take only Zevran. And you leave absolutely no way of finding you! You’re just… gone.” He spread his arms wide in despair. “What exactly is so important? What exactly makes you break your promise? The Branwen I know would never - ”

Each word was like a strike from his sword to her heart. They were true and she couldn’t deny them. She had miscalculated. She had failed her people just as much as Alistair had. Tabris curled onto herself under the blows, and when she interrupted him, it was, to her great shame, mainly just to shut him up.

“You wanna know what I’m doing so bad?” she said. “Fine _._ I’m following leads on a Cure.”

He blinked at her. His bewilderment was so great it momentarily doused all his previous anger.

“A cure? A cure for what?” 

“What do you think - for the Taint.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze and stared instead firmly at the floor.

“That’s… why?” he said softly. “Nevermind that it’s impossible - ”

“I found Morrigan two years back and she gave some great leads.”

“You… found Mo - no, nevermind all that.” He breathed in and out deeply. The last of his immediate anger faded and he looked at his old friend in concern. “Just… why? You accepted the Calling from the start. We joked about going to the Deep Roads together one last time, remember? Did Zevran talk you into it? I don’t - ”

“ _It’s not for me_.”

“It’s not… what are you talking about? Who is it for then?”

The elf finally looked back up at him. The expression on her face showed that she thought he was the stupidest human in the world.

“It’s for my King - it’s for you,” she said fiercely. “The best Shem King Fereldan has ever seen. You think I want to see you die at 40 and all your hard work go down the drain? Humans will forget me in a generation - the city guards don’t even recognise my face anymore. But _you_. They won’t forget _you_.”

“I… Branwen, that’s - ”

 _Not true_ , for who could forget the woman who’d saved all of Ferelden?

 _Too much_ , for how could she have such faith in him?

 _Utterly ridiculous_ , for the Cure was less even than a legend, and they were 28 and she was wasting what little time they had left.

“Zevran’s thrilled of course,” said the Warden, a note of hysterical laughter in her voice. “This is the second time I whispered your name in bed, you know. _Zevran, I’m going to make Alistair king_. _Zevran, I’m going to cure Alistair of the Taint_.”

“Ah, so I might be getting assassinated after all,” Alistair said. His mind was still whirring over her words and his response was more reflex than anything else.

“Well, he did comment that it comes with the bonus of _me_ living past 40,” she said drily. Her anger, for all it had seemed so endless that she had thought it would last for the rest of her life and perhaps even beyond it, had dimmed as well. For her too, it was far too easy to fall into the easy grooves of companionship and teasing. “He even offered to throw in some pro bono assassination work for you, ‘the man my fiancee is saving her life to save’. On the whole, I think you’re safe.”

They shared a brief smile at how Zevran showed his affection, and at Tabris’ terrible impression of him. Zevran had offered to come with her when she had stood up, pale as death, strapped her sword back on, and silently headed out the door to her childhood home that they had walked through just half an hour before. To stay her hand before she could do something she would regret? To help keep her for being arrested?

Zevran liked Alistair, and he worried about her struggles with the sin of wrath. If she had accepted her anger as a fifth limb he would have accepted it too, but she cursed it and taught herself to lock it up tight, and wept with disappointment when she realised how close it was to swallowing her whole. So for her sake, Zevran cursed it too, and unwrapped her hands from the hilts of her daggers every time.

And yet, he had realised how much she would regret executing Loghain before she had and he had not stopped her. Zevran liked Alistair, but his loyalty was not to some Ferelden king. If Tabris truly, desperately wished their old friend dead, he would lick her fingertips clean of Alistair’s blood with a shrug.

They knew this both, and they were both glad Zevran wasn’t here, and their silent agreement united them. 

“Branwen,” Alistair finally broke the amiable silence, his voice gentle, as though she were ill. What else could her plan be other than madness? “I am… very honoured that you told me what you’re doing. But there must be a better way.” He sped up, holding her eyes with his. “You know this is silly, right? You’re scared of who will take the throne after me - then stay here! I regret my mistakes - help me make less of them! Advise me, help me find someone who will replace me after the Taint takes us. You can talk to the hahrens, find someone they will respect too. We can train the heir together, and when we both hear the Song, we will leave Ferelden and all her humans and elves in steady hands. We can…”

He trailed off. Tabris’ wrath had burned so bright it had devoured itself until only a spark was left, but she was shaking her head wildly at his words.

“I - can’t,” she said, slumping. “Not anymore. I… I’m sorry, Alistair.” She buried her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes tight. The future he described sounded so bright, and near enough to reach out and grab. But she couldn’t. When she spoke, her voice was low and miserable. “This anger… It’s a poison, and it sickens the very core of me. I understand your logic. If I put myself aside completely, I might even agree you were right to act as you did. But I can’t.” Now she laughed too, broken and weary. “You’re right. I _was_ ready to gut you today, with your own father’s blade. That’s not a person you want advising a king or an heir. This anger… Even now, when I look into your face, I don’t see my king, my friend, my brother-in-arms. I see only a reflection of the other shemlen nobles who hurt me and mine. I see Vaughan. I see Howe. I see Loghain. ”

Alistair let out a choked, terrible sound when she finished and she knew herself a coward. She was very glad that the heels of her palms were still digging into her eyes and covering him from view.

Silence reigned. Tabris stood hunched, staring into the darkness of her hands. Alistair thrust his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor.

Finally, the King spoke, his voice slow and careful.

“Then I release you from any promises you made to me - whether as your King or your one-time friend.” His friend’s head snapped up at his words. Her eyes were red and widened, but her cheeks were dry. His voice cracked. “Wherever you end up going, please stay safe, and well, and give my regards to Zevran.” In a voice barely above a whisper, as though he very much doubted she’d want to hear it, he added, “I’m sorry too, Branwen.”

Silently, Tabris nodded at him, turned on her heel sharply, and strode towards the door. 

But there, with her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated.

“Helping you take the throne was the best thing I ever did, King Alistair,” she said, suddenly and fiercely. “Despite everything, I still believe that, and you can’t release me from my oaths unless I want to give them up. I’m going to talk to the hahrens, and then I’m going to find the Cure and save my friend.”

Alistair sucked in a very sharp breath.

It was a start.

“Then I will try to prove worthy of your friendship in the meantime, Warden-Commander Tabris,” he replied, inadequately.

Apparently that was enough for her. Briskly, Tabris walked out the door and then the castle, pausing only for a moment in front of the guard who had approached her before, to murmur to him a quiet apology. Within a day, she and her companion had disappeared from Denerim and Ferelden itself, and Alistair did not meet her again for many years. But they kept their promises to each other in the meantime.


End file.
